


A Monday Night Out

by padfoots_prose



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfoots_prose/pseuds/padfoots_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaine AU. Neither of them expected anything like this to come from a Monday night out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Monday Night Out

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake- go away! I promise you that I am neither sweet nor innocent and I am definitely not your 'honey' or 'baby' or 'sugar'. If you do not leave me the hell alone, I swear to  _God_ I will Krav Maga you back to  _last fall_ , which, by the way, is where that God-awful shirt of yours is from, you creep! Oh-"

Blaine stared dumbly as the man who'd just so deftly and vigorously insulted him spun around to face him. The man's cheeks instantly flared red, eyes bulging in mortified recognition of his mistake before his mortified gaze dropped to the floor and he lifted a hand to fiddle with the lapel of his jacket.

"Sorry," Blaine said, belatedly.

The man's eyes flicked up to meet Blaine's, shy and apologetic as he replied, "No. You don't- uh... you shouldn't be apologising. I just sort of... went off at you there. I, um- I thought you were... someone else."

Blaine smiled sympathetically. Now that the man wasn't yelling at him, he was decidedly less terrifying. Although, with a strong jaw, wide shoulders and sharp, clear eyes, Blaine could well believe that this man would be perfectly capable of fighting his way out of a nasty situation. If he didn't first completely disarm his attackers with an assault of very creative insults, that is.

"I can pretend I'm someone else, if that would help," Blaine suggested, "What if I call you 'sugar' a few times and try to grope you, then will you feel less guilty about screaming at me?"

The man reluctantly offered a half-smile back as he pointed out, somewhat defensively, "I didn't scream."

"You screamed a little," Blaine disagreed, "It was very frightening."

"I frightened you?" The man rolled his eyes, " _Please_."

Blaine shook his head, "No, you really did scare me. I was almost in tears. My shirt was very offended too. It was on the verge of spontaneously exploding out of sheer terror and embarrassment. That's how offended it was."

There was a pause. Blaine watched the other man for a reaction, hoping he hadn't gone too far. Then the man quirked an eyebrow, his gaze skimming down to fix on Blaine's shirt, before crawling back up to meet his eyes.

"Exploding, huh?"

"Yep," Blaine hurriedly assented, "A big bang and then... nothing. It would have disappeared completely. Right here, in the middle of the bar. And then the shirt would have been nothing but little bits of ash on the floor, and I'd have been left here embarrassed and shirtless and very, very frightened of the decidedly not-sweet and not-innocent man threatening to Krav Maga me back into last fall."

"Kurt," the man said. "That's the name of the man who threatened you so violently. And the man who is now very impressed with how good your memory is."

"Well, if Kurt gets a letter in the mail with verbal assault charges, it'll be Blaine who he owes the money too. And Blaine's shirt."

Kurt's eyes darted back to Blaine's shirt, and Blaine couldn't help puffing out his chest a little at the appreciative raise of Kurt's eyebrows, the way Kurt's gaze lingered again on his shoulders and arms.

"I actually quite like your shirt," Kurt conceded, meeting his eyes again, "I'd almost be willing to pay the assault charges if it meant I'd get to see that shirt again. On you, of course."

Blaine smiled at the convoluted praise, tone a little mocking as he said, "You give good insults, Kurt. Maybe just work on your complimenting skills from now on."

Kurt laughed, the sound slightly strained, his hand coming up to touch his lapel again – it must be a nervous habit, Blaine thought – before mumbling, "I'm not really sure what the etiquette is for complimenting strangers in bars, to be honest. Because I feel like right now we're straddling the line between friendly and too-friendly."

Blaine shrugged it off, boldly declaring, "You just need more experience. And, for that, you've accidentally insulted the right guy. Let me buy you a drink – or you could buy me a drink, by way of an apology – and then you can teach me how to scare off creepy guys and I can teach you how to compliment the not-so-creepy ones. Sound good?"

Biting his bottom lip, Kurt extracted his phone from his pocket, checking the time. Blaine watched, suddenly worried that he was coming on too strong, overly-conscious of his question still hanging in the air. Stashing his phone away and letting out a sigh, Kurt looked up at Blaine again.

"A drink sounds good," he said.

"Great!" Blaine smiled, "But first you're going to have to let me past. I only tapped you on the shoulder in the first place because I am dying to go to the bathroom, and you're blocking the way."

And, gently pushing Kurt aside, Blaine slipped past, laughing at the utterly mortified expression on Kurt's face.

...

"I don't do this," Kurt said for the fiftieth time that morning, sitting down at the table, dropping his head into his hands with a groan.

"We didn't do anything," Blaine assured him for the fifty-first time, ducking to pull two bowls out of a low cupboard and then a couple of spoons from a drawer. He carried them over to the table, set them down in front of Kurt, and then turned around to return to the kitchen.

"No, you don't get it, Blaine. I  _really_  don't do this. I absolutely  _never_  do anything like this. Rachel is going to kill me."

"Your roommate?" Blaine guessed, pulling two boxes of cereal out of the pantry.

"No, my girlfriend," Kurt shot back sarcastically, clearly irate, "Of course she's my roommate!"

Blaine let out an unsteady breath, depositing the cereal boxes on the table and turning back one more time to get milk, "Okay. Good. Because I remember you talking about her last night and if she's your girlfriend then, boy, do you two need to sort some things out."

Clearly, Blaine was trying to be funny, lightening the mood and all. But still sitting stiffly at the table with his head in his arms, Kurt was having none of it. He just made a noise of irritation as Blaine took his seat, opening a box of cereal and pouring some into his bowl, then adding milk. Watching Kurt carefully in the corner of his eye as he began to eat, Blaine waited to see some sort of movement, hoping that this mood of Kurt's wouldn't continue for much longer. Sure enough, after a few minutes Kurt gave in, probably too hungry to be mad, and dropped his hands from his face. With a sigh, he surveyed the cereal boxes critically, then picked one up. Blaine tried to be grateful that at least Kurt wasn't criticising his choice of breakfasts, although he could feel the effort it took for Kurt to hold his tongue.

Needless to say, this was not the morning that Blaine had anticipated.

Last night, he and Kurt had shared that first round of drinks, and then perhaps two more. It hadn't been enough to get them drunk, but certainly enough to get them friendly, talking about their lives as easily as if they'd known each other for years. Blaine remembered Kurt complaining for a good half hour about Rachel, the now-confirmed roommate who went to NYADA with him, and how she was involved with someone called Brody but someone else called Finn had come over a few days ago and was still in their apartment and there was, according to Kurt, 'tension'. In return, Blaine had complained about his job, about the awful pay and the price of his degree at Columbia and the measly little apartment that he shared with his brother, who was hardly ever there and yet still managed to make ridiculous amounts of mess. And Kurt had laughed in all the right places and sympathised and nodded earnestly and somehow during that third round of drinks his hand had ended up Blaine's knee and it had been comfortable there, nice.

They'd gone back to Blaine's place under the guise of Kurt helping to remove a particularly resistant stain that Cooper had left on a couch cushion. The thought hadn't even entered Blaine's mind of anything happening, because Kurt had been perfectly honest in saying he didn't have a lot of experience with strangers in bars, and Blaine had been less than perfectly honest in saying that he did. So all Blaine had really expected was some friendly advice, a friendly exchange of numbers, and maybe a friendly goodbye hug.

Only once they'd finished with the couch cushion, Kurt had sat down and asked, "Do you have anything to drink?" and Blaine had offered the bottle of cheap wine in the fridge and, well... things had digressed from there. Blaine vaguely remembers having told Kurt in a slurred, solemn tone that, "I could so easily fall in love with you" and then there'd been a body pressed against his side and a hand on his thigh and moist, hot breath on his ear, with Kurt's melodic voice saying, "Me too."

So  _had_  they done anything last night?

Honestly, Blaine thought not. He strongly suspected that they'd gone to his bedroom together with every intention of doing  _something_ , but that when they'd lain down onto the soft sheets they'd fallen straight to sleep, limbs tangled and heads heavy with inebriation. The very same thing had happened to Blaine before with friends, both male and female (drunk-Blaine tended to have a warped idea of just how flexible actual-Blaine's sexuality was) but never before with a stranger. Especially not a stranger like Kurt.

"We didn't do anything," Blaine said again, swallowing down a mouthful of cereal. "I promise you, we didn't."

Kurt groaned again, dropping his spoon so it clanged against the side of his bowl and running a hand through his hair.

"I  _know_  we didn't," he replied, eyes terse and concerned, "But you have  _no idea_  how much crap I'm going to get over this. Rachel tends to freak out pretty easily and  _Finn_ \- Finn will just tell  _everyone._.. oh, God. Mercedes and everyone back home and my  _Dad_. You have no idea how much I wish this hadn't happened."

Blaine's gaze dropped and he nodded his head, quickly lifting another spoonful of cereal to his mouth to try and hide the pang of hurt that shot through him at Kurt's words. It wasn't that Blaine fancied himself particularly attached to Kurt – not after so little time – but it stung nonetheless to hear someone complain so casually about what, to Blaine, had actually been quite a nice night, at least up until things had gone awry at the end. It wasn't like Blaine just  _met_  people like Kurt every day: people who he got along with so easily and was attracted to so immediately.

Because of course he'd been attracted to Kurt. How could he not be?

Through the haze of a (fortunately mild) hangover, Blaine could remember what the dim lighting at the bar did for Kurt's piercing grey eyes. He could remember the sight of his long, lean fingers, wrapped around his glass. Even the sharp, dark line of his jawbone is imprinted in Blaine's mind. Last night, in Blaine's eyes, Kurt had looked stunning and regal, his smart clothes and obvious, natural grace putting him in a class a thousand levels above the other average-Joes that filled the bar.

Now, though...

Now, Kurt still looked  _good_. His hair wasn't as spectacularly coiffed as before, although he'd clearly tried his best with the hundreds of half-filled bottles of product that Cooper left scattered all over the bathroom. And his face was much more tired: eyes a duller grey, skin a duller pink, cheeks now pale instead of flushed rosy-red like they were last night.

 _God_ , Kurt had been gorgeous. Not just in how he looked, but in how he spoke and behaved and moved. His quick wit had so quickly shifted to shy uncertainty and then to a wicked sort of confidence, a sureness of the effect he had on Blaine. He'd spent all night slowly growing bolder, pushing boundaries with lingering touches and glances that stuck and held, making Blaine's heart hammer against his ribcage.

Yes, Blaine thought, trying not to to sigh. He was definitely attracted.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, too late, directing the words at the dregs of cereal left in his bowl, refusing to meet Kurt's eyes.

He was scared Kurt would see the hurt in his eyes, scared of seeming too attached, too clingy, too much like he'd thought this was- something. Something that it wasn't.

Blaine cleared his throat and added, "I'm sorry you wish this hadn't happened."

He could hear Kurt's intake of breath, hear the scramble as he started to reach out, thinking better of it and dropping his extended hand onto the dark wood surface of the table, half-bridging the gap between himself and Blaine, then drawing back.

"No, Blaine, I didn't mean- I don't..."

Kurt growled in frustration, lifting his hand to tug at his lapel, to press the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"I'm glad that I got to meet  _you,_ " he finally said, "I'm just-"

Blaine could feel Kurt's stare hard on him when he broke off again, and looked up to meet it. Kurt's eyes were almost beseeching, begging Blaine to understand, begging Blaine to know what he wanted to say. Kurt's hand was back on his collar again, and slowly – as if thinking hard about every inch of movement – he let go of it, stretching out his arm across the table until his fingers brushed against Blaine's, still curled loosely around his spoon.

"I wish I could've met you five days ago, instead of yesterday. Or, actually, if I'm wishing for things, I wish I could've met you five  _years_  ago. Back when I didn't live with an over-reacting roommate, and a person who always assumes the worst and gossips too much. The two of them are as bad as each other! Always needing to know where I am and what I'm doing-"

" _We didn't do anything_ ," Blaine reminded him, honest and sincere, "I promise,  _promise_  you. We didn't."

Kurt let out a breath and his lips curved into a reluctant sort of smile. His fingers were still gripping Blaine's, and he gave a small squeeze before pulling his hand back, eyes flicking down as if he was suddenly self-conscious of it all. Blaine smiled back, hand lurching forward to grab Kurt's again before it could get out of reach. He wove their fingers together, eyes still solemnly fixed on Kurt. A gentle, tingling sort of thrill went through Blaine's body as he saw the colour rise on Kurt's cheeks, that rosy-red tinge suddenly back, lighting up his whole face.

"I wish I hadn't met you like this," Kurt said. "I think – if it had been any other way – we might've... found out we had a lot in common. "

"Why can't we find that out now?"

Kurt laughed, hand tugging a bit as if he wanted to free it from Blaine's, but Blaine refused to let go, watching intently as Kurt struggled to find an answer.

"Because..." Kurt said, drawing out the word, as if it was reason enough.

"Because?" Blaine prompted, teasing a little.

"Because we don't have anything in common, Blaine! We're- we...  _urgh_. People who have a one night stand don't go out afterwards. It's not- that isn't how it works!"

"Does it count as a one night stand if we didn't have sex?" Blaine asked, feeling Kurt squirm and releasing his hand, grinning at the way Kurt's eyes were instantly averted, as if he was suddenly shy about what they'd been planning on doing. About doing something that, if Blaine's memory was correct, he was pretty sure  _Kurt_  had suggested.

("We should- uh... you should go," Blaine had stuttered, brain muddled and whirling, both from the alcohol and from his consciousness of Kurt's lips, still hovering a hair's-breadth from his ear.

"Maybe-" Kurt had started to whisper.

And the  _feel_  of it had been almost too much. Kurt's voice husky and low and yet still so sweet; Kurt's chest pressed up hard against Blaine's side, the heat of so much bare, beautiful skin seeping through thin shirts; and  _oh_ , Kurt's hand on Blaine's thigh, palm hot and heavy and those long, lean fingers moving, tracing up the inside seam of Blaine's jeans- oh,  _God_.

"Maybe I could stay.")

"I don't know," Kurt answered uncomfortably. "I don't have a lot of experience in the area."

"Neither do I," Blaine said, "If that's any comfort."

"It is," Kurt nodded, "A little. But- hang on. What about what you said last night – about you having experience complimenting men in bars?"

Blaine grinned wider, trying to be charming as he replied, "I lied. I was trying to impress you."

"Oh."

Kurt blushed a little, then lifted his chin, looking at Blaine with a little smile on his lips. And  _yes_ ,  _that right there_  – that was what Blaine remembered of Kurt: the grace, the beauty, the sense of modest self-assurance. Blaine's heart leapt in his chest, a joyful little jolt of electricity humming through him as he saw the Kurt from last night gradually returning.  _You did this_ , the humming seemed to say, _he's feeling better now because of_ you.

Standing up, Blaine collected his and Kurt's empty bowls, taking them away to the kitchen and leaving them in sink. He'd deal with them later. With a glance at the clock on the wall, he headed back to the lounge room, passing the table where Kurt was still sitting (watching Blaine now with a shrewd look), and continuing on to his bedroom. Blaine emerged a few seconds later with his apron in hand, picked up his keys and wallet from the dish on the cabinet by the front door and then opened the door, standing there expectantly.

"Well," he said, "I have to go to work."

"You work on a Sat-"

Kurt stopped. Then he blinked once, twice, three times and suddenly leapt to his feet, hand flying to touch his hair as he realised that it wasn't Saturday at all. It was a Tuesday.

"You went to a bar and brought someone home with you on a  _Monday_?" he asked instead, rushing to join Blaine at the door and patting down his pockets, checking for keys, phone, wallet. He gave a nod, seemingly to himself, and stepped out into the hall, walking over to the lift and pressing the down button, waiting there while Blaine locked the door behind him.

The lift beeped to signal its arrival and the doors opened as Blaine answered, "No,  _I_  went to a bar to relax after work on a Monday.  _You_  went to a bar and got picked up by a guy on a Monday. As far as I can see, you're the one at fault here."

Kurt shot him a glare, fortunately without too much genuine anger in it, and supplied a compromise, "What about we acknowledge that we're both at fault and we were both pathetic for being in a bar on a Monday night and ending up together?" Blaine shrugged in unenthusiastic agreement, before Kurt added, "Even if I had good reason to be out, what with wanting to escape from the pool of sexual tension that my apartment had become."

The lift opened again and they stepped out onto the ground floor, Blaine moving ahead of Kurt to hold the doors open for him, and earning a small smile as Kurt stepped outside the apartment complex, surveying the view in both directions from the top of the stairs that led down to the sidewalk.

"Do you know where we are?" Blaine asked, clearly trying to be polite. His laughter leaked into his voice a little as he added, "Or did you not really take much note of it last night?"

" _Actually_ , I did," Kurt replied, his tone measured, poised, refusing to rise to the bait, "Because I remember thinking how close it is to my work. How convenient it'd be for me to come here if-"

Blaine gave him a sideways look, eyebrows raised.

"-if I wanted to visit. My friend. One day."

"One day," Blaine echoed, shooting Kurt another look before leading the way down to the pavement.

Blaine turned right at the bottom of the steps, easing into the traffic of businessmen and -women crowding the footpath, all moving in the same direction. Kurt stayed beside him, both of them exchanging a glance in recognition of their destinations being in the same direction. It was nice, Blaine thought, walking to work together. Maybe if Kurt really did work nearby then he really could come and visit again. As friends. Or not.

"Where do you actually work?" Blaine wondered aloud when he and Kurt both took the first right, crossing the alley they'd turned into to come out onto another busy street and continuing along that.

"A bookshop," Kurt responded, "Or – a second-hand bookshop, really."

"Around here?"

Kurt nodded.

Blaine nodded too, frowning. He checked both ways before he and Kurt crossed another side street, digging his fingers into the material of his apron, still clutched in his hand, as his mind raced. There was no way that what he was thinking of could be true. No conceivable universe in which Kurt would work  _there_  and Blaine would work  _there_  and it would take a Monday-night trip to the bar and a cheap bottle of wine to bring them together. And yet...

"What's the name of the bookshop?" Blaine asked, trying to sound casual, rather than as if his heart was slowly wedging itself in his throat.

"It's called  _Wentworth's_ ," Kurt answered. "Why? Have you heard of it?"

Blaine's teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as he fought to hold in the crazy-big grin that was bubbling in his chest. He could feel it from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, a pleasant heat pulsing through his body with every rapid beat of his heart, which had now decisively taken up residence somewhere in the vicinity of his adam's apple.

"It's just along here, right? On the left? Next to a coffee shop?"

Kurt looked at Blaine, his eyes narrowed, suspicious.

"Yes.  _Honey and Jam_ , that's the name of the coffee shop."

Blaine nodded, forcing himself to stay silent.

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Because if it was then...

He felt like screaming. Felt like raging at the sheer number of missed opportunities that must have passed them by, without either them even knowing.  _So_ many shifts ending early or starting late,  _so_  many days taken off to go home or do an assignment or comfort a friend,  _so_  many tiny things that had meant that, for whatever reason, their lives hadn't collided until now.

"You should go there sometime," Kurt continued, still looking politely confused, "I almost always head in after work."

"I suppose you don't usually work on weekdays, huh?"

"Not usually, no. I mean, NYADA started its mid-semester break yesterday, so I was here then and I'll be doing weekdays for the next few weeks and- wait."

Kurt halted abruptly Blaine did too, both of them moving to the side of the busy sidewalk as a few grumpy pedestrians bumped into them with grunts of annoyance. They were one store away from  _Wentworth's_ , standing out the front of  _Honey and Jam_.

"How did you know I don't usually work weekdays?"

Carefully schooling his smile into something socially-acceptable, Blaine glanced to the side, nodding at the crowded little cafe.

"Weekend afternoons, you go there, right?"

"Every day after work, yes," Kurt nodded, "But how do you know-?"

"I know that you only work weekends, because I only work weekdays. And I swear, if you had come in just  _one_  afternoon and ordered a non-fact mocha, I would have known. I would have remembered you."

Kurt's jaw was loose, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"You work there, don't you?" he asked, as if he couldn't quite get his head around it.

"And you work there," Blaine confirmed, inclining his head to the shop next door.

"And I've- we've never met until last night?"

Blaine shook his head, his breath leaping out of his lungs with a happy little noise as he finally let his grin break free, wide and bright and oh, what kind of perfect, quirky love-story had he just been thrown into?

One hand lifting to brush his fingers against Kurt's, Blaine laughed and said, his voice full of affection, "And you thought we'd have nothing in common!"


End file.
